This was not supposed to happen. This kind of thing happened to people in movies and books. It didn't happen in real life and certainly not to me. I was careful; I was smart. I checked the weather before I left and all the local storm radars.

And it's not like I'm a newbie. I've been out on the ocean in my dad's motor boat dozens of times before. I know what I'm doing and I know when the weather starts to turn for the worse. I've had to cut my excursions short before, because I could tell a storm was coming and I didn't want to take the chance.

So how the hell did I end up here, hanging onto a piece of the hull to stay afloat amidst the wreckage of my boat?

The storm came out of nowhere. I barely had the time to turn the boat around before the pouring rain and howling wind began to toss me around on the waves. It was unnatural, the quickness with which it advanced. The sky had been blue and relatively cloudless moments before the rain hit, just like it is now moments after the storm has passed. It just didn't make any sense.

I need to stop dwelling on how the storm formed and start thinking about what to do in its aftermath. Let's start by taking inventory of my injuries.

Just a few bumps and bruises from when I was still inside the boat, but after I went overboard I started racking up hits. I can only see the cuts on my arms, but the stinging in my legs is evidence of more than I can see. My right shoulder is in so much pain, I can't use it to hold onto my makeshift raft anymore. As I let it drop into the ocean, I can feel that it isn't hanging right. Probably dislocated.

I shift my left hand's hold on the raft, trying to compensate for the lack of an arm.

There's something warm and sticky running down my cheek and the back of my neck. I vaguely remember getting hit in the back of the head as I was tossed among the waves, but I don't recall my cheek getting sliced open.

Blood loss is going to be my biggest enemy here, then. If I lose too much blood, well… And then, of course, there's the threat of sharks. But I'm not going to panic. I know way too much about the ocean and ocean survival tips to start losing it now.

I've swam or surfed or motor boated in these oceans for as long as I can remember. Dad still calls me his little mermaid, sometimes, even though I'm nearly 20 and far too old for childhood nicknames. Regardless, this is my territory and I can do this.

I craned my head to determine the location in the sun. Based off the time on my water resistant watch- thanks, Dad- I just need to angle myself a bit to the left and start kicking. I'll either reach land soon, or die trying.

Apparently, blood loss makes me morbid.

Holding your battered and bleeding body up on a broken piece of wood while trying to kick yourself in a relatively straight line is much more difficult than it sounds. And it sounds fairly difficult. My head is starting to feel impossibly heavy and I'm struggling to keep my eyes open. Every few minutes I glance back up at the sun to make sure I'm staying on the right course and almost every time I have to make corrections. Whether because of the loss of blood, exposure to sun or exhausting activity, I'm not sure, but I'm struggling to stay awake and to keep heading in the right direction.

I know if I stop I won't have the strength to start back up again, so resting is not an option. But I can't keep my head up any longer. Maybe I can just rest my cheek right here on the driftwood and keep paddling with my eyes closed. Now I'm still moving and I don't have to use any energy to keep my head up. I'll just look up in a few minutes to make sure I'm on track.

I feel myself drifting off to sleep and welcome it for a few seconds. Then panic sets in. I can't fall asleep, not here and now. Sleeping would mean dying.

I fight off the darkness that tries to envelope me in it's warmth. I lift my head up, check the sun and keep kicking, stronger than before. I need to make it closer to shore, maybe someone will see me. A lifeguard or another motor boat. Anyone.

I have no idea how far I am from shore, which way the storm pushed me or if I'm even within reach of land, but I have to keep trying.

It feels like hours have passed since I began swimming towards shore, but my watch claims it's only been 18 minutes. How much longer can I last? I already almost gave in and I haven't even been out here an hour.

Another 10 minutes pass. My head is starting to bob, my neck giving into the weight of it. My eyes blur and I have to fight to open them back up and glance at the sun. My legs are screaming at me to stop kicking, sore from the storm and extended use. I can feel the kicking slowing down. I'm weakening. And I'm cold. That's definitely the blood loss because the heat of the sun burns my scalp, but I shiver anyways.

I'm contemplating the pros and cons of laying my head back down on the wood, when I feel the ocean moving around me. Not in the same way as a storm. More like when your friend swims past you in the pool and you can feel the displacement of water they cause. But I'm not swimming with a friend and fear begins to sink in.

It gives me a sort of adrenaline rush. My head is suddenly as light as a feather and my eyes are sharp as I search the waters around me. Warmth pulses through my veins, like my blood is made of fire and although I can recognize the new strength my legs suddenly possess, I go completely still. Trying to outswim a shark is the worst idea possible. They're attracted to movement. If I remain still, it's more than likely that this terrifying threat will keep moving and find his dinner elsewhere.

Time seems to stop. I can hear every heartbeat, feel the current of the underwater swimmer circling slowly. For a moment, I think he's leaving. The circling seems to have gotten farther, rather than him closing in to attack. Then I remember blood. My blood. A trail of it behind me and a pool of it around me. Streaming out from my innumerable wounds. Sharks are also attracted to blood.

I hear a splash and turn my head just in time to see the tip of a tail disappearing under the water, a mere 5 feet from me.

My heart beats faster. I try desperately to control my breathing in an attempt to slow my heart. The faster my heart beats, the more blood I lose. The shark must smell it; his current is closer now. He's circling, again, closing in.

This is it. This is where I die. Death by shark doesn't sound too fun. I think I'll just lay my head back down and give in to the darkness. Let unconsciousness surround me and numb me from the pain of rows of pointy teeth.

I shiver. Partially in fear and partially because the warmth has left and I feel cold again. As my eyes slip closed I see a head break the surface of the water, less than a foot away. I try to open my eyes again, to see if it was real or if I was imagining things.

I want to scream. Help me! Save yourself! Thank God, another human!

It doesn't matter, because I can't get a sound out. My heart beat has finally slowed down, but it's somehow painful. Sluggish and painful. It creates a throbbing throughout my whole body. Every beat of my heart is a throbbing in my dislocated shoulder, my bleeding head, my aching legs. The darkness isn't as warm and inviting this time. It's cold and obtrusive.

It's better than razor sharp teeth, I suppose.

Something brushes against my legs and my body convulses away, adrenaline keeping me just on the brink of the darkness. I will myself to sleep, to die. I don't want to feel this. The terror or the pain.

Warmth.

A hand on my neck. My eyes open as small slits. I can't make anything out. There's a silhouette against the sunlight, but I can't make out any details. Blurry shapes and colors. The hand tracing down my neck, grazing over the exposed skin of my shoulder where my shirt was ripped.

I cry out in pain when the fingers find the dislocation. But only a small grunt comes out of my desert-dry throat.

The hand is gone. I'm disappointed. The hand was warm and gentle. And a great distraction from reality. I never knew hallucinations could feel so real.

The hand is back- thank God! Under my cheek, pulling my head up off the chunk of boat that had been my floatation device and pillow, combined. My left arms slides off the driftwood as the hand pulls my head up and suddenly my burned scalp is cool. My eyes have settled closed again and I feel relaxed. I take in a deep breath, but salt water rushes in my mouth. I begin to panic but the hand grabs me.

I break the surface of the water, coughing and spluttering to expel the water from my lungs. My throat burns and water drips into my eyes as my eyelids flutter to keep it out. It's only after a few minutes of trying to restart my respiratory system that I realize I'm no longer being held up by the piece of my boat's hull. There's an arm wrapped around my waist and I've got both my arms thrown around a set of broad shoulders as I keep my head above the waves by resting it against a solid chest.

My brain struggles to catch up with what just happened. I almost drowned.

A memory resurfaces. I'm 4 years old and I'm at the beach with my dad. Just one of hundreds of memories I have there with him, but this one sticks out. We were building a sandcastle together. He's just gone up to our beach house to fix us lunch, after telling me to stay on the sand. I wanted shells for our castle, but I knew I had to wait for him to come back outside before I could go looking for them in the water. He was taking so long, I decided to go without him. Even as a 4-year-old, I had been in the water plenty of times and knew how to swim. I waded into the surf, eyes cast to the sand below the water in search for the right shells. I made it out to waist high water and began to dive, opening my eyes against the salty water for a better look at the ocean floor. Just as I saw a pretty shell, I had to come up for air. When I went back down, I couldn't find the shell. I was angry that I had lost it and thought if I was a mermaid, I wouldn't have to come up for air. I could stay under and find the prettiest shells. I wished with all my might that I was a mermaid and then went under to test my theory. I remember the same panic settling in and in the chaos I couldn't remember which way was up. I began thrashing around, but then a hand grabbed me and pulled me up. The same coughing experience and burning sensation in the back of my throat. When I could breathe normally again, my dad was angry.

"Why did you leave the beach? What the hell were you doing out here, Carter?" He had bellowed, as he carried me out of the water.

"I'm a mermaid, daddy," was my feeble reply, prompting the now familiar nickname.

I shake my head to get rid of my thoughts. Now is not the time to dwell on the past, but to figure out what just happened. Where is the shark? And how did this guy find me? Was he on a boat? Did I make it close to shore?

These questions rush through my brain as I slowly pull my head away from his firm chest. I glance up to meet green eyes that rival even Jensen Ackles in their beauty. The sun that had shaded him from my view earlier, now highlights the blonde strands in his mostly light brown hair. His full lips and high cheekbones, framed by a square jaw, do their best to distract me. They succeed for a moment or two.

But eventually I stop gaping at him and start to glance around. In just a few seconds I discover these few facts. There is no boat in sight. Neither is there land. And this man is holding a giant golden looking fork. Like I'm talking King Triton's fucking trident.

Great, so now I'm lost at sea with a freak who thinks he's the king of the oceans, on top of being circled by a shark. Oh, and now I don't even have my driftwood to hold on to, anymore, thanks to Poseidon over here.

"What are you doing swimming this far out at sea?" A deep, accented voice asks.

I glance up at the male model holding me afloat and sarcastically reply, "I'm a mermaid." My voice is hoarse from disuse and inhaling saltwater.

His eyes light up at that, but then he squints at me suspiciously, "Where's your tail?"

"I traded it for legs," I say with an eye roll. My lack of voice must interfere with my sarcasm, because he looks curious. Intrigued, almost. I continue, "There was a sea witch and some singing."

"Ah, so then you've seen her recently?" He asks, his eyebrows dipping in determination. "Point me in the right direction."

My head is feeling heavy again and I can't deal with this guy's idiocy right now. I'm still bleeding out and the adrenaline rush is leaving me, again. I'm feeling drowsier by the second.

"Look, I'd love to sit here and play along all day," my words are beginning to slur together and I'm fighting against gravity to keep my head up and my eyes on his. "I'm kinda bleeding out though. So whenever you'd like to continue with this rescue, that would be great with me."

"Rescue?" My neck can no longer hold the weight of my head. It starts to fall forward, but before my chin hits my chest, the arm around my waist pulls me closer so my forehead rests against his shoulder. "Are you in need of assistance?"

I attempt to laugh, but all I manage is a huff.

"No, I just like to bleed out on my days off," I mumble. "How did you find me anyways?"

"I saw you trying to swim. You must be adjusting to your new legs, because you weren't going very fast," he says, matter of fact.

"God," I breathe out. Anger courses through me giving me enough strength to practically yell, "I'm dying, for God's sakes, that's why I can't swim fast. Now stop being an asshole and get us to shore so I can go to a hospital."

My breathing quickens with my anger and I can feel it becoming shallow. Too shallow. I'm hyperventilating. This dick finds me dying in the middle of the ocean and messes with my head until I bleed out. Is that the end of my story?

"I don't understand, you said you were a mermaid," he responds, sounding genuinely confused. I have no more strength to argue with him. My body is going limp. I feel the darkness, again. It's still cold and I still try to fight it, but it's useless. I feel it wrapped around my waist, where the man's arm was. Now it's dragging me down, tugging me down to my death.